


I Just Can't Help Myself

by chaseandcatch



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaseandcatch/pseuds/chaseandcatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Kurt dreams about Blaine.<br/>TRIGGER WARNING FOR NON-CON.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Can't Help Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Make Up Your Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/31071) by mbueno. 



_Sometimes, Kurt dreams about Blaine._

_He dreams about wicked-sweet, taunting words whispering over his shoulder and into his nerves, dreams about the honey-hazel eyes that always seem to find a way to watch him, to stare at him and make him squirm. He dreams about chaffing ropes, sweaty palms, hot hands and even hotter heat inside him, pushing and thrusting and the little whimper-moans he can’t keep in when Blaine hits there and smiles his wicked, devilish smile and tells him how much of a slut he is and-_

Kurt wakes up, spine snapping upwards and arms flailing out and _no, it’s all over, you can move_ and letting his spine sink back into his pillows and chest deflating-inflating-deflating and _okay._

The sharp, whiney tone of his answering machine buzzes through the room, and Kurt flinches at the sudden loudness. Shuts his eyes, waits for the message to come through.

“Hey, Kurt! It’s Chandler, from the record store, remember? The guy who complimented your brooch? Anyway, I was wondering if you were free for dinner tomorrow night, at around eight? I know this great Thai place – or if you don’t like Thai, there’s Chinese, Indian, Italian…”

Kurt launches himself at the phone before he has time to really think about it.

“Hey, Chandler! Italian sounds great.”

Kurt hears an audible pause, feels his heart trying to break his ribcage.

“Really?”

Kurt breathes in relief.

“Of course.”

“So eight’s alright?”

“Eight’s perfect.”

“ _Thank god –_ I mean – crap – good-”

“Chandler,” Kurt laughs, “relax, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” Audible breathing. “I can pick you up.”

“Sounds great.”

“Eight o’clock tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Chandler.”

“Okay, okay. Okay.”

Kurt smiles. “See you soon, then.”

He makes sure the call’s been hung up before letting himself squeal, aggressively blocking out the little voice in the back of his head which is telling him exactly why this is going to go badly and rushing to his wardrobe.

*

_One day later_

Blaine smiles at his reflection, straightening out his suit cuffs and letting his mind wander to the night ahead.

_Eight o’clock._

It had been easy enough, to slip the bug into Kurt’s apartment; wait until that Rachel girl is at one of her rehearsals and Kurt goes to work, run across and pretend to be a beyond-bored UPS guy until one of the other occupants buzzes him in, run up to the fourth floor, a little lock-picking and _bam,_ he’s in.

He had considered implanting a camera in their bathroom, as well, but the risk was high enough with just an audio bug – he had to be more careful, now. Besides, even if he could’ve put a camera in, Blaine liked surprises.

He hopes Kurt likes surprises, too.

He pulls out his phone, sends off a message to MaryAnn; around two weeks after he started going to the café more often, she’d slipped a number underneath a cup of coffee, and what kind of well-mannered gentleman would he be if he were to ignore her offer?

He grins at his reflection as a new message arrives.

_You ready for tonight?_

Blaine can feel the fire in his veins, feel his cock grow a little harder as he thinks of all the things he can do, _will do,_ tonight. Kurt moaning unabashedly underneath his hands and sweet, tight heat, and _fuck._

_More than you would believe ;)_

Blaine straightens his tie, combs through his hair roughly with his fingertips, eyes glinting mischievously.

_Time for Round Two._

_*_

_Oh my god, he has a Prius and he’s not a pretentious douchebag._

Chandler snorts, head moving forward with the action. “That’s nice to know,” he laughs.

Kurt freezes. “Oh god, did I say that out loud?”

Chandler nods, shoulders silently shaking.

Kurt opens his mouth in half-horror, half-hilarity. “Oh my god, I am _so_ sorry, crap,” and he starts laughing, too, chuckling loudly, openly, barely stopping to breathe in-between. “Oh my _god.”_

Chandler smiles at him, laughter-tears in his eyes, and Kurt smiles back, heart half-swelling.

_Maybe tonight’s going to be okay. I’ll be okay._

“Oh, that felt good,” Kurt huffs, in-between giggles and snorts that are still making their way out, “It’s been _way_ too long since I laughed like that.”

Chandler’s smile drops, if only a little, at Kurt’s words. “Aww, that sucks. Anything in particular that’s got you down lately?” He asks, glancing back to the road – the traffic still isn’t going anywhere.

Kurt hesitates.

_Oh, I’m just recovering from being locked in a basement and repeatedly raped by a murderous psychopath, so no, not really._

“Not really, to be honest – just life, I guess?” Kurt half-shrugs, presses his lips together.

Chandler looks at him for a moment, shoulders slumping back into his seat. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to ask.” He pauses. “Well, at least tonight can be fun, right?”

Kurt nods, lets his heart hope a little, smiles as convincingly as he can manage. “Right.”

*

MaryAnn’s pretty enough, and even though Blaine could be a qualified cocksucker if he liked, he can still appreciate the effort she’s made to impress him; hair curled, dress new and purposely short, makeup not too-heavy, smile bright.

He smiles disarmingly as she steps into the taxi, and he can see her blush as they exchange pleasantries and he tells the driver where to go.

It’s a bit unfortunate, really, that he’s not into ladies, because he certainly wouldn’t mind trying out a few… _ideas_ on her.

He might just get to, depending on Kurt’s choices in the next few hours.

*

“This is so good, _seriously_ , how did you find this place?” Kurt smiles through a mouthful of spaghetti, trying not to let it get on his chin.

Chandler shrugs. “I was a broke New Yorker who was craving decent food, and this was the first place I stumbled across.”

“Wow, me too! Except I only found two-minute noodles.”

They both laugh, and Kurt wishes he could push away how much he really does like Chandler, but he’s so nice and friendly and patient and the atmosphere turns from playful to romantic to both every few minutes, and Kurt can’t bring himself to care.

Neither of them really look at the other diners, so Kurt doesn’t notice the man with the dark hair and the beard and the pretty girl on his arm looking over at him every few seconds, not through his laughter and food and he doesn’t really look at anything else, to be honest, not until he’s furiously giggling at Chandler’s initial interpretation of _Jesus Christ Superstar_ and he accidentally spills some water on his shirt and then he politely excuses himself through more giggles and looks for the bathroom.

The man with the beard waits for a few moments, and politely excuses himself as well.

*

_It’s just water, thank god._

Kurt wrings out as much as he can over the sink, then hits the hand-dryer with his elbow and stretches his shirt out underneath.

“Do you need help with that?”

Kurt pauses, shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“You know, it’d dry a lot faster if you…took it off.”

Kurt freezes, turns. There’s a man standing there, open and undisguised friendliness practically beaming from his face, and Kurt knows he shouldn’t be so uneasy all of a sudden, and he’s not sure why but he can’t really help it.

He half-smiles. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, turning away and hitting the hand-dryer button again.

“I’m sure you’d do fine without a shirt. What, with all those layers and such.”

Kurt freezes, doesn’t let himself turn again. “What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t mean to let out that question, doesn’t mean to do anything except get out of this bathroom, get _away._

He can feel the man’s smile on the back of his neck, can feel his hairs stand up, can feel his breath escaping him.

“I mean,” the man says, and Kurt hears footsteps getting closer, “I’m sure you could do without a layer…or two…or all of them.” He finishes breathily, reaching out a hand to stroke softly down Kurt’s side and he can barely feel it but he shivers, and the man chuckles, stepping still-closer.

“You really don’t recognize me, do you, Kurt?” He says, barely above a whisper.

Kurt freezes, focuses on breathing, tries not to think. “Get away from me.” He goes to step away, but the man blocks his path.

“C’mon, baby,” the man says, putting his lips to Kurt’s ear, “I bet you’re still a good little cocksucker.”

Kurt freezes, can’t move, lets his eyes wander across until he makes eye contact with the man. Shudders in a breath.

“Blaine.”

The man cracks a grin, breathing hot air onto his ear. “Miss me?”

Kurt leaps into action; clenching his hand behind his back, he brings his knee up into Blaine’s stomach, winds him, swings his fist around and hits him square in the nose, pushes himself back and to the side and he’s a second away from screaming when Blaine knocks into him, clamping a too-big hand over his mouth and nose and pushing him backwards until they both hit the bathroom wall.

“Oh, I see,” whispers Blaine, pushing Kurt into the wall with his entire body, “the little slut’s a fighter now.”

Kurt’s eyebrows furrow, struggling to breathe, let alone fight back.

“Are you going to scream?”

Kurt glares, thrashing underneath Blaine’s hands.

Blaine pauses, for a second, and Kurt thinks he might actually have a hope of getting out before Blaine’s smiling, too-big and devilish and deadly, and Kurt’s heart stops.

“You’re not going to scream, beautiful. You know why?”

Kurt glares harder, shakes his head slightly.

“Because if you do,” Blaine leans closer, lips touching Kurt’s neck, “I’m gonna go get your little pretty date and fuck a knife so far up his ass that it’ll come out his mouth.”

Kurt wants to throw up. Blaine pauses, watching him, still smiling, and slowly removes his hand.

Kurt sucks in a breath, fighting the urge to cough as his brain un-fuzzes.

“Now, where were we?” He asks, and he seems to want Kurt to supply an answer.

Kurt’s heart pounds as he attempts to compose himself. “I was just leaving,” he says, still half-breathless.

Blaine actually laughs out loud at that. “I don’t think so, Kurt.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “What, your name?”

“Don’t fucking call me anything.” Kurt says lowly, stepping back and away. “Stay away from me-”

“-ooh, someone’s gotten _feisty_.” Blaine purrs, matching Kurt’s steps, effectively blocking his path. “I’ll have to fuck that out of you again.”

And fear’s snapping down Kurt’s spine, fear and memories and _he’s killed people he locked you in a basement and fucked you until you bled-_

Blaine’s fingers are on his chin, tilting his head up and staring into his eyes. Searching. Smiling.

“That’s better,” he breathes, stroking down Kurt’s neck, “I like it so much more when you’re scared.”

Blaine’s hand reaches the top of his shirt, slides across his nipple before Kurt manages to grab his hand and stop him.

“I’m going back out to the restaurant,” he snaps, trying not to let his voice crack. “You’re never going to speak to me again, and I won’t report you.”

Blaine draws back his hand, and Kurt almost-gapes in surprise. The smile widens a little, and Blaine shrugs. “Your choice, Kurt,” he says, eyes glinting. “You know how good I can make you feel, right? I’m _sure_ you remember.”

“You’re _sick_.”

“You’ll always be a little slut,” Blaine says, “no matter how hard you try to forget it.”

Kurt shudders a breath, pushes forward, and Blaine lets him through. Just as Kurt reaches the door, he feels a hand on his shoulder, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he turns. Blaine stares, almost-tentative, and a second later he’s kissing him, hands slipping up-down his sides and under his shirt and scratching over his chest and grabbing grabbing grabbing-

Blaine pulls back, lips blood-rush-red, and cat-grins at him.

“Enjoy the date, Kurt.”

*

_One week later_

“Kurt?” Chandler’s voice rings through the apartment, a too-loud echo, as he enters through the unlocked door. Kurt had texted him about an hour ago, saying that he had something really important to discuss, and that Chandler should come over as soon as he could manage.

Chandler calls out again, louder this time, shutting the door firmly behind him as he moves forward into the apartment.

Blaine devil-charm smiles to himself, counts to three, and steps out of the shadows.

“Kurt won’t be long,” he says, thumping a firm fist over Chandler’s head before he has a chance to turn around, lets the sudden-limp body fall to the ground, “I’m sure.”

*

Kurt’s not going to lie – he’s been panicking all week. After what he refuses to acknowledge as anything but the Bathroom Incident (and refuses to directly think about), Blaine had gone back into the restaurant, paid his check and left, and Kurt hadn’t heard a whisper from him since, but Blaine has always been insanely unpredictable, so Kurt’s worried.

Kurt feels a vibration, reaches into his pocket as he slides into his car and – oh. That’s not his phone.

It’s cheap-looking, probably bought from a department store a few days ago, and the flashing caller ID reads _Kurt Hummel._

Kurt takes a deep breath, lets his shoulders shiver for a moment, and hits the answer button.

_“Honey, I’m home,”_ Blaine’s voice singsongs through his ear like a demonic dove. “ _I hope you won’t be much longer.”_

“That’s it,” Kurt grits his teeth, chest heaving, “I’m reporting you, you’re going to fucking jail you fucking sick-”

_“-I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”_

Kurt stops. “Why?” he asks, voice still tight.

_“I’ve got your little boyfriend here, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”_

Kurt can almost hear the smile-leer in Blaine’s voice. “I don’t believe you.”

_“Do you really want to risk it?”_

“If you really think I’m going to fall for your little trick and play damsel-in-distress again-”

“-Kurt?” The voice is different, breathy-gasp, and Kurt’s stomach drops.

“Chandler?”

“Look, I don’t know who this freak is, but-”

“-and I think that’s enough to convince you, right, Kurt?” Blaine says, and the suddenness of his voice shocks Kurt out of his frozen demeanour.

“Twenty minutes,” is the first thing out of Kurt’s mouth, and he hates himself for it. “I can be there in twenty minutes, just – don’t hurt him, please.”

There’s silence, and then:

“I hope you won’t take too long, Kurt – your friend’s being quite uncooperative, and I might have to teach him how to behave if you’re not here to entertain me.”

The dial tone sounds.

Kurt can feel everything in him rushing too-fast, wants to throw up, but all he can do is nod to himself as he switches on the car.

“Twenty minutes,” he says again, and drives.

*

He gets there in fifteen.

His door is unlocked, which is worrying enough without the knowledge of what lies ahead, without the barely-audible shouts coming from further within the darkness.

Kurt closes the door, and he can feel his bones shaking. “Blaine?” He calls out, voice wavering. There’s no response, so he moves forward, hand slow-sliding along the grey sheen his wall has become under nothing but the moonlight streaming from outside. “Chandler?”

He reaches his bedroom door, hesitates before turning the handle; his bedroom is almost pitch black, only a small stream of light hitting the bed, and all he can hear is harsh, quiet breathing.

_When Kurt was younger, he was afraid of the dark – so afraid, in fact, that nightlights and sleeping with his father and god knows how many other things didn’t help, didn’t have any effect whatsoever on him. It wasn’t until one night, a few days after his tenth birthday, that his father had directed him to stand in the middle of his room, stood outside his door, and turned out his light._

_Kurt had immediately frozen, heart and breath racing; he could feel the unseen monsters staring him down, feel the gaping darkness dragging around him like an unending void, and just when he had thought he could see the shadows beginning to move, the room was flooded with brightness._

_“See?” His father had said, gesturing around the room with his free hand. “There’s nothing there, Kurt.”_

_“B-but there was something, Dad,” Kurt had replied, voice scared-small. “There was a m-monster, I saw it.”_

_Burt had sighed, walked closer to his son, knelt down and looked him in the eyes. “All you have to do to get the monster to go away,” he said, “is turn on the light.”_

Kurt shuts the door behind him, and he can feel Blaine’s eyes tracking his every movement, devouring with his eyes like the cat watching from outside the mouse-hole, waiting to pounce.

Kurt reaches behind himself, takes a deep breath, and switches on the light.

The room floods with brightness, but the monster doesn’t disappear.

*

Blaine grins, tugs the rope around Chandler’s neck as Kurt lets out a gasp. Chandler is handcuffed, tied to one of Kurt’s desk legs and gagged with a simple black ball – his neck looks chaffed, his eyes red. Kurt wants to throw up.

“Kurt,” Blaine drawls, tilting his head to the side, “how lovely of you to join us.”

Kurt doesn’t respond, can’t seem to find his voice.

“Aren’t you going to be polite, Kurt?” Blaine asks, mock-offended. “It’s very rude not to reply to a guest.” He pulls the rope impossibly tighter, and Kurt finds his voice.

“What do you want?” he asks, every word a struggle, throat dry. Blaine blinks in surprise, takes a moment to answer.

“Sit on the bed,” he says, voice casual.

It’s a simple enough command, but Kurt still hesitates before complying, tries to focus on breathing.

“Good boy.”

And just like that everything rushes back up to the surface, the pain and stretching and hunger and the taunting, wicked words, every second that he spent with Blaine drowning his brain like quicksand insanity.

“Take off your shirt.”

Kurt freezes, stares at Chandler for a moment, whom is shaking his head aggressively, looking angrier than Kurt thought he could be.

“Please,” Kurt says, barely above a whisper, “Blaine, you don’t have to-”

“-Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, cold-fast, “I would recommend you do as I say.”

“Why?” Kurt snaps.

Blaine just stares back at him for a moment, emotionless, and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his hand a second later, holding a small, silver handgun, and Kurt’s heart stops. Blaine brings the gun around to Chandler’s head, and even if Kurt wasn’t looking he would have heard the solid _click_ of the safety trigger being removed.

Kurt’s shirt is off within ten seconds, and he can feel gooseflesh sprouting up his sides, can feel himself shivering wherever Blaine dances his eyes. Blaine smiles, lets the gun click back into safety mode. “Good boy,” he breathes, eyes alight.

A moment passes, and Kurt gulps. “What now?” He asks, hands clenching, unclenching in his sheets.

Blaine pauses, head still tilted slightly to the side. “Just let me look at you for a minute.”

Kurt’s partially grateful that he doesn’t have to move, but he half-wishes that he could do something other than just sit there, half-naked and vulnerable under Blaine’s gaze.

“Touch yourself,” comes next, barely a breath of a word. Kurt grimaces internally, reaches down to the front of his pants, curving his hand around to palm at himself, but a small _tut_ echoes through the room.

“Getting greedy, are we?” Blaine says, more oil than honey, slithering into Kurt’s ears. “Not there, sweetheart, not yet.” He pauses. “Rub your nipples for me, Kurt.”

Kurt shivers, runs his hand feather-light up his heaving stomach, over his ribcage and _oh._

“That’s it,” Blaine mutters, eyes looking low and hungry as Kurt gasps against his fingertips, arches his chest out. “Right there.”

A small _thump_ shakes Kurt from the rhythm he’s fallen into, and his hand drops, and both him and Blaine look to Chandler, who’s struggling violently against his restraints, eyes angry-wide and desperate.

Blaine tuts, pulls out a small pocket knife, and Kurt’s heart stops but Blaine’s only reaching down, cutting away the rope tying Chandler to Kurt’s desk and pulling him across the room, opening Kurt’s closet and shoving him inside, following him, pushing him to the very back.

“Your company has been delightful, Chandler,” Blaine calls as he exits, turns around, snaps the closet key around to lock it behind him, “but I think it’s time for me to _re-acquaintance_ myself with Kurt.”

*

Kurt’s still sitting on the side of the bed, eyes locked with Blaine’s as he moves closer with every second, sliding off his jacket carelessly onto the floor and sitting next to Kurt. He reaches a hand out, strokes down Kurt’s cheek, and Kurt can’t help but to flinch away from the touch.

Blaine keeps his hand in a light grip on Kurt’s chin, stares for a moment. “Don’t move, sweetheart,” he says softly, “or I’ll kill him.”

Kurt stares at him, sets his jaw, and Blaine smiles. “That’s better,” he laughs, stroking a firm thumb down Kurt’s neck, smiling wider when Kurt doesn’t move, like a child delighted that his new toy is _finally_ working.

“You’re so _pretty,”_ he whispers, eyes everywhere, more to himself than to Kurt. He strokes down his collarbone, thumbs at a nipple, and Kurt’s breath hitches. “Like a china doll.”

Kurt can feel himself starting to shake, and Blaine must take some form of cruel pity on him because he halts his touches, slides his hand down a little further to Kurt’s hip, pushes him gently towards the bed. “Lie back,” he says gently, leaning forward, and it would almost be soothing if Kurt couldn’t see the tension-hunger in his eyes. “Relax.”

Kurt scoots backwards, turns himself so that he’s lying in the middle of his bed, half propped up on his pillows. Blaine crawls up after him, hovers over him, and Kurt can feel their breath mingling together. Blaine tilts his head down, tongue licking over Kurt’s mouth before pushing inside, kissing at him, groping at his shoulders, and Kurt lets out a shuddery breath. After a moment, Blaine pulls back up, lips and face flushed, and huffs.

“As much as I love to control,” he murmurs against Kurt’s lips, “you might want to show a littlemore enthusiasm, dear.” He leans back down again, lips slow-sliding over Kurt’s, tongue barely-there. Kurt winces at himself, then kisses up as hard as he can, half-heartedly sliding his hand up to Blaine’s cheek, and Blaine groans.

“ _Fuck,”_ he hisses in-between kisses, thrusts his hips down, and Kurt lets out a high whine. Kurt rocks back up, just a little, before he remembers what he’s doing, where he is, who’s lying on top of him. He lets out a soft cry at the next thrust but then Blaine’s lips are on his throat, sucking and biting and kissing, and the cries turn to moans halfway through.

“You like that, baby?” Blaine asks, hands groping at Kurt’s sides, rubbing everywhere he can reach, “does that feel good?”

Kurt goes to snap _no,_ but as soon as he opens his mouth Blaine’s hand slides down between his legs, cupping his half-hard cock, and Kurt gasps. “You little slut _,”_ Blaine purrs. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already _aching_ for it.”

Kurt wants to scream, wants to at least fight back or push Blaine away, but his hands are _everywhere_ and squeezing and rubbingand Kurt knows that he’s just trying to mess with him, trying to get into his head but every word that tumbles out of his mouth  is so filthily, deliciously _dirty_ that he can’t help but moan in response, can’t help but to rub back up against him, and he hates himself for it.

Blaine slows his thrusts, focuses more on simply rubbing his hips against Kurt’s, gauging his reaction. “Do you want me?” Blaine asks, out-of-breath, stroking along Kurt’s collarbone slow and firm as he unbuttons his shirt with his free hand. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“ _No,”_ Kurt whines, before he can catch himself, and Blaine pauses his movements, looks down curiously at Kurt.

“Are you sure?” He asks, slow, precise, eyes sparkling.

Kurt waits for him to continue; he doesn’t, and Kurt’s mouth goes dry. “No,” he says, voice shaky, meeting Blaine’s eyes. Blaine smiles, thrusts back down again.

“It’s really too bad that you said that, baby,” he says, “We were going so well.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Kurt manages to say, small, and Blaine smiles wider.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he says, “but I’m feeling a tad hurt by your comment.”

Kurt hesitates, bones shaking. “Y-you can fuck me if you want,” he says, trying not to flinch at Blaine’s hands. Blaine laughs at that, loud and gleeful, and his movements stop again. A moment passes, and Blaine’s smile fades.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Kurt,” he says, and then his hand his vice-gripping Kurt’s face and his face is an inch away, all amusement and laughter suddenly gone.

“Whether you like it or not, I’m going to fuck you.” Blaine hisses, “I’m going to ram my cock down your throat until you pass out.”

Kurt wants to throw up, but Blaine won’t let go of his jaw. “You thought you were fixing yourself, didn’t you?” he laughs, cold and forced, and Kurt can feel the air from his mouth. “I bet you got a pretty little shrink, and a pretty little boyfriend, and you told yourself you were getting better.”

His grip’s getting tighter, but Blaine’s face is still so calm, controlled, observant.

“You’re still a slut, Kurt.” He whispers, silky-smooth. “You were _made_ to be filled, and fucked, and used, and if you’re being honest with yourself, well,” he sighs, “it’s all you really want.”

Kurt’s breathing heavy, eyes watering by the time Blaine lets go, lets Kurt bring up a hand to rub along the side of his jaw, to check for damage.

“Anyway,” he says, smile resurfacing, “I think you need to make up for your little outburst.” He brings up his fingertips, strokes along Kurt’s lip. “Let’s see if you’re still a good little cocksucker.”

*

Blaine’s off him a second later, unbuttoning his pants, and Kurt’s eyes skip to the door.

“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” Blaine scoffs, dropping his pants to the side of the bed. “You’ll regret it.”

_Chandler._

Kurt shuts his eyes, gulps when he feels the bed dip. Blaine’s hand starts tracing over his chest. He can hear him breathing.

“Open your eyes.”

Blaine’s face is soft; Kurt’s never noticed that before. He’s never really looked for softness with Blaine.

Blaine’s hands travel down his waist, to his waistband, unzip and pull down and off and then they’re both there, nothing but briefs to cover up with. Blaine pulls back, looks expectantly at Kurt.

“Come on,” he says, staring, “I’m all yours.”

Kurt pushes himself up to sit, tries to gather his thoughts. Blaine leans forward, kisses him smoothly, and Kurt huffs. A tight hand tangles in his hair, pulling him down, down to Blaine’s neck, collarbone, and Kurt lets himself be pulled.

_Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe-_

“That’s better,” Blaine purrs, “that’s it.” He lies back. Kurt slides on top of him and punches him square in the face and Blaine reels as Kurt knocks into his face again, jumps off him and off the bed and backs away, clutching blindly behind his back because there has to be something, a lamp or a knife or – a _gun._

Kurt’s fumbling with Blaine’s jacket by the time he reaches him, slamming him against his dresser, ripping the jacket from his hands and throwing it to the floor and Kurt lets out a howl as his hip bruises, as Blaine presses in his weight and suffocates his sanity.

“Get off me,” Kurt hisses, thrashing against Blaine. Blaine laughs, pushes in harder, leans until his hips are pressing firmly into Kurt’s and he can’t move and _fuck._

“I was waiting for it, baby,” he says, “I knew you were still feisty, but _god_ …”

He trails off as his hand curves around Kurt’s hip, smooths down and _oh,_ Kurt needs to move back and forward and away and closer and he whines, shuts his eyes, swallows.

“I was looking forward to tying you up again, anyway,” Blaine says, cupping his cock through his briefs and rubbing too-fast and smiling, laughing, winning. “It’s so much more fun when you fight.”

“I thought you liked it when I – when I didn’t fight,” Kurt pants, not sure where the words are coming from but he needs to say something _,_ do _something_ other than just stay there and take it.

Blaine pauses, stares at him, breath fanning over Kurt’s mouth. “I like it when you’re scared,” he says. “When you don’t fight – well,” he shrugs, “it’s kind of delicious, but it gets boring.”

He leans back, grabs Kurt’s hair and yanks him onto the bed and he’s on top a second later, holding down his shoulders with open palms and pressing his hips down, thrusting in small motions as Kurt squirms. “This is so much better,” he purrs, kissing down Kurt’s neck, “because I know that you tried, and you _lost.”_

Kurt pushes up against him but Blaine brings his hips down, slides up and then he’s sitting on Kurt’s chest, holding both his wrists to the headboard with one hand as he reaches into Kurt’s nightstand with the other, pulls out two ties and _fuck._

Kurt tries to focus on breathing as Blaine ties his arms eagle-spread, whispers about how hard he’s going to fuck him and _you’re such a good little slut, Kurt,_ and he’s rubbing all over Kurt’s chest and poking and prodding and Kurt can’t breathe.

_Why?_

“Because I can, sweetheart,” Blaine says, and Kurt didn’t intend to say that out loud but he can’t think properly, can’t even see clear. Blaine’s briefs are off a second later, and Kurt shudders.

“Don’t worry about sucking, sweetheart,” Blaine coos, stroking down Kurt’s cheek as he holds his cock at the base, “just open your pretty little mouth and I’ll do all the work.”

Kurt’s mouth is already open a little so it’s not that much effort, but the look on Blaine’s face when he widens his mouth makes it so much harder than it should be. Blaine starts off shallow, quick little thrusts and Kurt can’t even begin to fathom why, because Blaine has him trussed up here because Kurt’s a fucking _idiot_ and can’t defend himself and Blaine can do _anything_ to him here, he can fuck his mouth and fuck him and touch him and lick and prod and he’s going to and Kurt’s shaking, through every limb and every vein and every inch of his body. Blaine notices, looking down and smiling softly and shoves harder, groaning loudly about how _tight_ and _wet_ and _good_ Kurt is, and then he’s gone and Kurt’s mouth is clear but he still can’t breathe.

“Enough with playing,” Blaine pants, stroking himself quickly before he slow-slides Kurt’s briefs off, too fast, too rough, and Kurt hadn’t realized how hard he’d gotten but then a soft, astounded laugh came from Blaine and his hand squeezed Kurt’s cock and Kurt was whining, arching his hips into the touch, shame burning on his skin.

“See? You’re such a dirty little slut, baby, aren’t you?” Blaine breathes, “you’re so desperate to be fucked.” He starts stroking, slow and tight, hands rough-warm, and Kurt moans, eyes watering. “All I’ve done is use you, and you’re _aching_ to be touched.”

“No,” Kurt sobs, “I don’t want this, you’re wrong, you’re _sick-”_

“You’re so cute when you deny what you want,” Blaine says, “it’s adorable, really – the evidence is right here in my hand.” He strokes faster for a moment, and Kurt bites his lip as a small groan escapes. A moment passes.

“You’re gonna fuck me, aren’t you?” Kurt says, voice scared-shaky, blinking the tears from his eyes and looking down at Blaine, not really sure why he’s asking, because he knows the answer.

“Of course,” he says, smiles, and lets go of Kurt’s cock, reaching into his nightstand drawer and pulling out lube and squirting a reasonable amount into his hand and Kurt shuts his eyes and _don’tcry._

Fingers are prodding at him a moment later, pushing in and stretching and stroking around inside and searching, searching and-

Kurt whines, high and loud as Blaine swears, groans as he rubs at Kurt’s prostate tender-fast, adds another finger and the stretch burns and Kurt pulls at his restraints, sobs, moans. Another second and the fingers are gone and there’s blunt force and pressure and Kurt yelps as Blaine spreads his ass open, pushes in and grabs his hips and pushes more and he’s in.

“You’re so tight,” Blaine says, “the things you do to me, Kurt, _fuck.”_ He pulls out, thrusts back in shallow and slow like he did with Kurt’s mouth, taking so much less than he could, taking too much. Kurt’s panting, almost-hyperventilating as Blaine speed up with every second, circles and thrusts harder and rougher and his hands are on Kurt’s cock, stroking with the lube left on his fingers and fast and rough and Kurt can’t stop himself. He thrusts up into Blaine’s fire-hot touches, lets himself be fucked into the bed and sheets and Blaine slows down, thrusts shuddering and then Kurt can feel him inside, slowing and filling up and it’s warm and everywhere and positively _filthy._

Blaine’s still stroking at him, whispering wickedness into the silent, sweaty air and breathing heavy along with him and _come on, baby, just let go, come for me, show me how good you feel._

Kurt comes a second later, riding the high and Blaine stroking him through it, slowing and then stopping and pulling out and Kurt’s laughing, hooting, cackling as tears stream down his face and all of his limbs shake from overuse and fear and numbness, as Blaine reaches over and unties him, brings down his arms and tells him how well he did and kisses down his cheek and Kurt laughs harder, laughs until there’s a warm handtowel cleaning over him, wiping away the mess and sweat and then he’s sobbing, a high, heartbreaking squeal falling to a sob and then Blaine’s there, holding him from behind and nosing at his neck and the movement is so innocent and would-be comforting that Kurt can feel the bile rise in his throat.

He wants to run away, but where can he go? What can he do? He ran last time, and look at him now, look at Blaine. Blaine won.

The presence behind him disappears, and he hears the bed creak as Blaine stands. He rolls to his back and watches Blaine re-dress himself, walk over to the closet and open the door and then it hits Kurt.

He sits up, rubs at his wrists, and a gunshot sounds.

*

_Chandler squirms as Blaine shoves him into the closet, slams his neck up against the wall and shoves the needle into his neck, injecting and dropping the thing on the floor. Blaine steps back, smiles charmingly, and slams the door shut._

_“Your company has been delightful, Chandler,” Blaine calls, “but I think it’s time for me to re-acquaintance myself with Kurt.”_

_The room turns black._

Blaine smiles to himself, sliding the gun back in his pocket and turning to the bedroom again as the body behind him slumps; Chandler had already been dead before Blaine shot him (certain snake venoms could work wonders, killing the victim within minutes of injection) but it was still fun to get violent, and he couldn’t have Kurt having the advantage of knowledge, could he?

*

Blaine exits the closet a minute later, and Kurt is sitting on the bed, not moving, not blinking. Blaine walks up, bends down to soft-kiss him on the lips. “See you, sweetheart,” he whispers, grabbing his jacket and exiting the apartment.

Kurt doesn’t move.

*

When Kurt finally gets up, gets his blood running, he picks up his phone, and it unlocks onto his email.

_1 unread message, from **khummel@gmail.com**_

He opens it _._

_13 Smith Street, 8pm. Next Friday._

_Your move._

_*_

_One week later_

It’s a warehouse.

Kurt knew it was a stupid idea to turn up alone, to turn up at all, but he just couldn’t help himself; he needed answers, he needed to fill his weird sick-psycho craving to see Blaine again.

After about ten minutes, he gives up, goes to walk out but the ceiling creaks so he turns, looks up, chin held high. A body slams him to the ground and he yelps, but then there’s a hand and a cloth and it smells – it smells-

“Hello, sweetie.”

*


End file.
